


reverberations

by aflyawaykindaday



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflyawaykindaday/pseuds/aflyawaykindaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For so long, a home never quite registers as a home unless you can physically feel it, a rhythm thrumming deep enough to become indistinguishable from your own heartbeat.</p><p>Perhaps that’s why it strikes you as so odd-feeling when you step across that threshold and into a stagnant house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reverberations

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey, my first posted Mass Effect fic! No surprises that it includes Kaidan. For once I don't have much to say, so here it is. Enjoy, everyone; feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or its characters in any way, shape, or form. I do own Neo Shepard and this piece of domestic fluff.

_Home._

It's always seemed like a real fragile thing, something easily made, easily changed, easily taken away. You’ve had so many, in so many shapes, sizes, bound in so many ways. The rubble of a childhood hideaway filled to the brim with kids the galaxy didn’t want; the bunks of a dozen ships, your small body cramped tight in the ducts, waiting for the opportunity to scrounge. The first time you board a ship you’re actually  _meant_  to be on, your new mother’s hand is clasped tightly in yours as the engines turn the entire hull to vibrating, her powerful timbre sounding reassurances as you leave planet-side. That bone-deep reverberation becomes a part of you as the years pass, grows as constant as the feel of grenades in your hands and gunmetal in your nose. Static silence becomes something foreign, and a home never quite registers as a home unless you can physically feel it, a rhythm thrumming deep enough to become indistinguishable from your own heartbeat.

Perhaps that’s why it strikes you as so odd-feeling when you step across that threshold and into a stagnant house. The old-fashioned floorboards, golden brown and gleaming, don’t vibrate under your feet, and the matching walls – not metal but wood – don’t hum. It’s a soundless space, unnervingly out of your element, and you almost backtrack out the door when you hear it close and another join you inside.

“Do you like it?” Kaidan’s eyes, a warm whiskey brown –  _like the floorboards_ – are half hopeful, half cautious, and you feel a tingle of affection for him, smile to ease the faint line creasing his forehead and your own anxiousness.

“I don’t know yet,” you reply, breathing in as you turn back to gaze at the large, sunlit foyer. His warmth appears at your back, a gentle sweep of arms around your middle, and you lean back on reflex, close your eyes for a short moment when he brushes his lips over your temple. “It’s pretty, though.”

“We’ll give it time. Dad didn’t say we  _had_  to accept the property.” Kaidan squeezes once, plants a firm kiss on your cheek before letting go, and you watch as he walks ahead to the giant windows and looks out over the nearby fields. “It’s just been in the family so long; I don’t think he wants to see it go to waste.”

“How long?” The place definitely seems timeworn, whispers of an antiquity rarely encountered in an age of spaceflight and automated everything.

“About fifty generations, give or take. It’s one of the first pieces of land that was returned to us after the accords were signed. It’s officially in Dad’s name now, since it originally belonged to my late grandmother.”

“So…” You struggle for something to say. You have no way to grasp that long of a history, not when  _you_  struggle to even separate the events of your childhood. It’s fascinating, yeah, makes you want to sit back and listen to him talk about it for as long as he’s willing, but it’s also unnerving, makes the odd antiquity of this place that much more present. “It’s old.”

The burst of laughter from him, rough and bright in that way you love, echoes in the empty spaces, fills it like a physical thing. “Yeah, it’s old.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Earth is his home, at the end of the day. His family is here, mostly, mercifully, miraculously whole after the war, and you know he’s been anxious to return, to reconnect with what he came so close to losing. He would never stress how much, but you can tell from the way he looks out that window to the fields and woods beyond, places he probably explored as a knobby-kneed kid seeking that final frontier, before the dark energy in his nerves changed everything.

Now, he turns to you, eyes meeting yours, smile slightly self-conscious. “Yeah,” he says, “just for a while. Just to get a feel for it again, y’know? Just to…” He pauses and scratches his head in that way that says he’s tongue-tied and too embarrassed to continue. “Yeah,” he finishes, lowering his gaze to the floor, and that rush of affection you felt earlier comes back hundred-fold, makes you bounce on the balls of your feet to temper the urge to grab his face and kiss him silly.

That kid is still there, you realize. He’s buried, blanketed behind years of hardship and hurt and grim triumph, but he’s definitely there, golden and curly-haired and yearning to come out again, “just for a while.”

And that just takes all the question out of it, doesn’t it?

“Then we’ll stay,” you conclude, resolute as you take another sweeping look around, wonder how many people called this place home and if you’ll be welcomed as another. You feel Kaidan’s eyes on you, imagine his brow furrowing.

“Shepard, you don’t have to-”

“I’m not indulging you,” you interrupt, coming to stand in front of the fireplace.  _No virtual fire here, I bet._  You grin a little, glance at him out the corner of your eye. “Not entirely, anyway. And I want to know what it’s like.”

You hear him open his mouth, probably to argue, but he changes direction instead. “What what’s like?”

“Having roots.” You run your fingers over a length of chiseled stone, marvel at the feel of each individual grain. “Having stability.” You look up, note the balcony winding its way around what seems to be a second floor. “I’ve never had a house before, a home that stays in only one place. It’s always been a ship, a frigate here and a carrier there, even a couple dreadnoughts. But never a house.” You plant your hands on your hips, rock back on your heels and wince at the twinge that goes through the still-damaged nerves in your right leg. “I wanna find out what it’s like.”

Your gaze is still parsing out the shadows of the second floor when Kaidan appears at your side, eyes still soft with uncertainty. “We can find a house we both like, then. It doesn’t have to be this one.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s true. But I have zero experience in real estate, and this place obviously means something to you.” With him so close, you give in to the urge a bit, run a hand down his cheek and scratch at the slight smattering of hair over his jaw. “Far as I can see, no other place would be any better than this one.”

“Neo.” He folds his hand over yours, links them tight, and you roll your eyes at the automatic quirk that comes to his lips when the bands around your ring fingers rasp gently together. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You look up at him, see the tender crease in his forehead and the subtle, hopeful glow in his eyes, and use your free hand to cup his chin and pull him down, lips touching once, twice before your foreheads come together. Somewhere inside, you feel a hum, a reverberation settling in, making itself known. “I’m sure.”


End file.
